manicpixiedreamgirl (3 page)

“Rob, dude, stop!” I plead, trying to shove Justin off me. But Justin just grinds another narrow elbow into my ribs, laughing the whole time.

“Tyler?” Robby says to Becky over my phone. “Tyler … Darcy? Yeah, he’s here somewhere.”

“Rob! Seriously!”

“Yeah, here he is. Oh, wait! We had a question for you.”

“Rob, I swear to god …”

“Yeah, we were wondering … what’s up with you two? I mean, why won’t you go out with him? He’s a good guy. Talented. Smart. Sexy as all hell. Am I right?”

I punch Justin in the face.

I met Justin through Robby. They shared an earth science
class, and had banded together at lunch. I’d been eating
by myself, reading and also watching for Becky. One
morning as we got off the bus, Robby told me to meet
him in the cafeteria, and I agreed.

Justin sat reading a book at a table in the cafeteria, earphones plugged into an iPod. His face was screwed into a scowl as we walked up.

“Whatcha reading?” Robby said as we sat down.

“S’fer English,” Justin said. “
The Glass … Ménage à Trois
or something.”

“Menagerie,”
I said.

“Hey, watch your mouth!” Robby said to me, and laughed at himself.

Justin and I hadn’t so much as exchanged names at this point. He looked at me and said, “What’re you, in Honors English or something?”

I was, but wasn’t sure I should admit it. So Robby did it for me.

“Yeah, man, he’s totally freaking brilliant!” he said. “Right, Ty?”

I didn’t answer because I spotted Becky two tables down from us. Justin launched into a tirade about how stupid his English class was while I tried to figure out a way to get a better angle from which to see Becky.

“What’re you listening to?” Robby asked Justin.

Justin took the earphones out and threw them at Robby. “Pink Floyd.”

“Who’s that? Any good?”

“No, they suck. That’s why I’m listening to them,” Justin said.

I barely heard Robby and Justin because I’d made up my mind: I would talk to that girl. I’d just walk up and introduce myself, ask her her name, and ask if I could join her for lunch. Maybe I could ask what she thought of
Night Shift
. Yeah! Perfect!

So I stood up with my lunch tray and ignored my thumping heartbeat as best I could. I took two steps—and stopped as some guy sat down right beside Becky.

I think my shoulders dropped all the way to the floor. Figures. The one time I grew a pair, and some dude got there before me. Older and bigger, too. Definitely a senior. I chucked my tray back on the table and sat down.

“Rough day at the office, sweetie?” Robby asked as he stuffed Justin’s earphones into his head.

“It’s nothing,” I said, totally disgusted with myself.

“Ah,” Justin said. “So it’s a girl.”

Whatever the look on my face was, it made the two of them bust up.

“Which one?” Justin asked me.

I tipped my head to the side. “Two tables down, on the end,” I said. “Red-and-white baseball shirt.”

“Oh yeah,” Justin said, looking over at Becky. “I got her in math.”

Justin became my newest, bestest buddy ever. “You do?” I said. “What’s her name, what’s she like?”

“Dunno,” Justin said. “She doesn’t talk much. Er … ever, actually, that I know of.” He nodded appreciatively. “Cute, though.”

“Do you know who she’s talking to?”

“Mmm … nope. No idea. Parole officer?”

I did
not
think that was funny. Well—maybe sort of, but basically, no. The girl was an angel, anyone could see that.

“Dude!” Robby cried, with his hands cupped over his ears. “This song is … is rapture! This is like audio orgasm! Listen to this! Listen! Doesn’t it just make you … wanna … 
fuck
a guitar?”

He was so earnest that both Justin and I started laughing at him.

“What?” Robby asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Can you even hear yourself?” I said, while trying to maintain a covert eye on Becky and figure out at least what grade the guy beside her might be in.

“I hear plenty,” Robby said. “You filthy bitch.”

Which made all three of us laugh even more. And by the time we’d finished, Becky and the guy who’d sat beside her were gone.

Of course, I didn’t know that was her name then. Despite Justin having a class with her, I didn’t actually learn Becky’s name until I met Sydney.

You’ll see the irony momentarily.

My English teacher, Ms. Hochhalter, ruled her classroom with an iron fist wrapped in unicorn stickers and glitter: Do what she says, you get along fine. Cross her, and
you’re done. Rumor had it she was into Roller Derby and stuff like that, which I largely think was BS.

That day, the same day I met Justin, Ms. Hochhalter stood in front of her desk waving a handful of papers at us as soon as the bell rang.

“Of all these autobiographical essays,” she said, glaring at us, “only the barest handful are worthy of being written by students in my classroom. Sydney Barrett?”

On the far side of the room, a girl with thick, dark, springy hair raised her hand. “Here!” she said.

“A,” Ms. Hochhalter said, flipping the essay at the girl, who yelped and caught it in one hand. “Tyler Darcy?”

“Here?” I said.

“A,” Ms. Hochhalter said, throwing my essay at me. I did not catch it, despite a heroic effort. Sydney Barrett
watched
me not catch it.

“Teena Fortenbaugh?” Ms. Hochhalter went on, and called out only two other names of people who’d gotten As. I tried to hide behind my desk as the rest of the class growled at us. Honors English got a little competitive, I’d noticed.

“The rest of these papers?” the teacher said. “Sad, lonely, pathetic, heartbreaking. I’d sooner have chewed on a nice wad of tinfoil than grade these abominations.” Ms. Hochhalter moved on to detail our next assignment, something about expository writing.

One of the cool things about her class was you could sit wherever you wanted, unless she moved you. The next day, Sydney Barrett sat down in the desk next to mine for
the first time. I remember thinking there was something Greek about her, like she should’ve been lounging in a white marble colonnade in the first century. Her skin glowed pale olive, and something blazed magnetic in her eyes.

“Hi,” she said, putting a hand out. “I’m Sydney.”

“Uh … Tyler,” I said, shaking her hand.

“My fellow A-getter,” Sydney said, smiling. A nice, sweet, and confident smile. “We should form a club. You can be president if you want.”

“I’m not too political,” I said.

“Then I’ll be president and you can be treasurer,” Sydney announced. And smiled again.

The girl operated like a charming semitrailer, bulldozing her way through the world. It was a bit overwhelming, to be honest. Not unlike hanging out with Robby and Justin, actually, but like them, something about her fire-on-all-thrusters attitude impressed me.

As Ms. Hochhalter started class, I thought,
What if I’d been that up front with that girl in the cafeteria on the first day?

Justin howls and falls off me, rolling with the punch. I scramble unsteadily to my feet and lunge at Robby, who giggles and throws my phone up in the air as he dodges. Smart move on his part; instead of tackling Robby, I have to switch gears and reach for the phone before it hits the grass.

Miraculously, even after the alcohol, I’m able to pick the phone out of the air.

“Hello? Hello?”

“… Tyler?”

Her voice
. God, her voice. No matter how often I hear it, it always turns me on.

“Hey, Becky. What’s up, what’s going on?”

Justin and Robby are both on the ground, hysterical. Either Justin’s drunkenness made him not feel my punch, or—more likely—it wasn’t that hard a punch after all. Okay, maybe it was more of a face-shove.

“What was all that about?” Becky asks.

Something about her voice doesn’t sound right. But I can’t place it, either because of the champagne or wrestling with Justin.

“What was
what
all about?”

“What was Robby talking about? About us?”

I fire a kick into Robby’s shoe, which makes him laugh harder. “Oh, I dunno,” I say. “He’s pretty hammered, is all.”

“Oh …”

“So, yeah, hey, what’s up?”

“I … are you busy?”

I clear my throat. “Well, not exactly, just hanging out, you know.”

I hear Becky sniff. Then again.

My chest cinches tight at the sound.

She’s been crying.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Sydney asked me in early
October freshman year. Up till that point, we’d mostly
made small talk about movies, music, and the stories we
read in English.

“Nah,” I said, trying to make it sound like a choice on my part. “Not really.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” Sydney said, and poked my shoulder. Neither of us had moved our seats, so we were beside one another; despite the freedom to sit anywhere, by now most of the class had settled into places they thought of as their own.

“There’s somebody I’m kinda … thinking about,” I said. An understatement of
modest
proportions. While I was having a good time hanging out with Justin and Robby at lunchtime and sometimes going over to Robby’s after school to play video games with them, it was a bit hard to concentrate on anything they talked about during lunch.

“Oh yeah?” Sydney asked, but her tone lacked any hint of mining for hot gossip. “Who?”

“Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t exactly talked to her. I don’t know her name.” Justin had kept promising he’d find out, but he never had. That, and he’d switched math classes. Much to my annoyance.

Sydney lowered her voice. “Is she in this class?”

“Nah, no.”

“Oh.” Sydney pulled the tie out from her ponytail, letting her dark hair drape over her shoulders. “Well then,
what’s she look like?” she asked, twirling a curl of hair in her fingers. “Maybe I know her.”

“Um … well, she has this star tattoo on her neck—”

“Rebecca Webb.”

Sydney, whether she knew it or not, was now my most priceless ally. I sat up straight, eyes popping. “You know her?”

“Yeah, we’re in Drama One together.”

I didn’t know where to begin with my questions, and Ms. Hochhalter chose that moment to show up and start organizing her books on her desk. I had maybe thirty seconds.

“Well, what does she—is she like—how does she—you know!”

Sydney smirked at me and rolled her eyes. “Wow, you are hopeless, Ty,” she said, and poked my shoulder again.

Ms. Hochhalter cleared her throat and opened a massive tome with gilt edges.

“What’s she like?” I managed to spit out.

Sydney thought about it for a second before saying, “She’s quiet.”

The bell rang. “All right, my academicians, mouths closed, ears open,” Ms. Hochhalter said. “We’re starting Shakespeare today. I hear one groan, I see one adolescent eye roll, and your paper will be ten pages instead of five, plus you’ll wash my car every week for the remainder of the year. Any takers?”

I loved having Ms. Hochhalter for English, but right then, I wanted her to shut up. This was important, couldn’t she see that?